Ad Usque Fidelis
by AshleyBudrick
Summary: Left for dead amidst the chaos of the Battle for New Mombasa, UNSC Marine Sergeant Lena "Mac" McNamara remembers her life and the only two things it ever revolved around: the Marine Corps and the Human-Covenant War.
1. Chapter 1

**Ad Usque Fidelis**

**Chapter 1**

**20 Oct 2552 - City of New Mombasa – Earth**

The word was the Chief was finally on the ground. A morale booster if there ever was one, and an answer to most prayers. Hours earlier the worst fears of Humanity had been realized when a small fleet of Covenant capital ships exited Slipspace just off of Earth's defensive network. In what seemed like a heartbeat, the massive Covenant Assault Carrier had broken through the defenses and chose the city of New Mombasa as its victim, immediately deploying troops and vehicles to wreak havoc. Naturally, it was up to the UNSC marines to be the first responders.

"No promises on how well he's going to aid things, Mac, death toll is high. There are still a ton of civilians on the ground. They don't know how to fight back." By he, Corporal Slater meant the Chief. Slater was crouched behind a crumbled mass of concrete that had once been a highway overpass. He was speaking to his only living chain-of-command, Sergeant McNamara, who was crouched next to him, her assault rifle lying across her lap. Their higher up, Gunnery Sergeant Stephenson, took a direct plasma hit and had been dead before he hit the ground. Grim, but not a surprising outcome for the way the day was going.

McNamara frowned, her brow furrowing in frustration. After a moment she nodded in response, tonguing the wad of chewing tobacco she had crammed into her lip.

"He'll do what he can, I suppose," the Sergeant answered, taking a moment to spit, "Can be said for the lot of us, really. Do what we can and fuckin' pray for the best, hey. That's the closest thing to a strategy I've heard in months."

Slater let out a scoff of agreement.

"Your headset working yet?"

"Nope. She's dead as a doornail. I tried to tell the techs before we went topside that it was all screwy. 'Give it a smack' they said. Load of horseshit if I've ever heard it. Didn't want to fill out the paperwork to give me a new helmet," McNamara spit again, "You're my eyes and ears. Anything on the HUD?"

"Distant flickers of red, but they're on the outer edges of the radar. Not a worry to us, not yet," Slater gave a casual shrug, and gazed up into the sky, shaking his head, "This is so fucked."

"You don't need to tell me twice."

"Whenever you want to move out, just say the word."'

"I'm good to sit here for a bit yet, ain't in any rush." McNamara moved from crouching to sitting to prove the point. She took a deep breath and exhaled, wiping a bit of sweat from her face with her tunic sleeve. Despite the craziness of the day, she felt oddly calm. Everything had seemed to slow to a dream-like haze after Stephenson died. That's when any emotion McNamara had been feeling shut off, too. She hadn't witnessed a death and felt as vapid as she had when she saw Stephenson take that hit. She watched it happen in a split second, and once the fire-fight ended, watch Slater confirm he was dead. The whole time she felt nothing. Just nothing. Desensitized? That's what the psychs called it, she remembered. Being desensitized to death required a lot of fuckery to occur prior to. It had been close to twenty years of this bullshit, long enough, McNamara figured.

"Can't believe Gunny's gone." It was if Slater was reading her mind.

"A lot of my skeletons died with him," McNamara said, "That man had more dirt on me than most." She shook her head, "Christ. Here one second and gone the next. Wonder if they'll be saying the same for this city. Or for Earth, for that matter."

"My hopes are with the Chief."

"Putting all your bets on one man… if it were any other day, I'd call you crazy. Today though, I'd say he's the one I'm counting on too." McNamara glanced down at her utility belt, "That and my grenades."

She received a gentle nudge in the ribs from Slater, and glanced to him, he'd frozen on the spot, looking directly ahead. McNamara slowly moved her head in the direction he was looking, and saw a couple of Elite minors had emerged from an alleyway, trailed by a handful of Grunts. Since she and Slater weren't moving, concealed in the shadow of the remnants of the highway overpass, the aliens hadn't seen them. From here, they could hear the guttural growls from the Elites and the high-pitched squeals from the Grunts.

"Speaking of grenades," the Sergeant whispered under her breath. Cautiously, she reached to her utility belt and plucked out a grenade. Gripping it tightly, the spoon pressed between her thumb and forefinger, she exhaled a small breath. It fit in her palm perfectly – never did she feel more comfortable holding anything else. Curling her finger around the pin, she met Slater's eyes.

"Can you make it to cover in three seconds?"

Slater nodded confidently. Wasn't the first time Sergeant Mac had given him this ultimatum, and he'd only been fortunate to work with her for several months. It was one of the first things he'd heard about her, she was the Sergeant that loved grenades. That and she'd been charged for punching an officer a few years back.

"As soon as I let fly, go. It'll distract them from this baby landing in between their legs. I'll be right behind you." McNamara slowly rose into a crouching position, moving forward a few steps, before quickly raising to full height. With a satisfying click, she jerked the pin from the grenade and let it fly overhand. She watched it long enough to see the spoon separate and go cartwheeling – and heard Slater clambering over the concrete – before she bolted into a run. _One. _She heard the yell from the Elites as they spotted either her or Slater. _Two._ Slater slid behind a giant slab of concrete and in two long strides, she slid in next to him, kicking up dust. _Three_. A grin broke out on her face, and the grenade exploded. The concussion jarred the ground and her body, the aliens' screams swallowed up by the deafening sound of it going off, pieces of shrapnel could be heard whizzing past overhead and hitting the other side of their concrete slab.

"I fucking love my job!" McNamara announced.

Slater shook his head, unable to hold back a grin,

"Never one for a subtle approach, are you Mac?"

"Life's too short to keep things subtle," was her matter-of-fact reply, as she rose to her feet and left their cover, her weight on the chunks of concrete causing them to crunch loudly. Even from where she was standing, she saw she had successfully killed the lot of them. Their bodies, colors distinct amongst the grey tones of the surroundings, were lying scattered and motionless. She spotted a severed limb or two. The blood, purple and florescent blue, had been splattered in a surprisingly large radius.

"Confirmed kills," Mac heard Slater say as he came to stand beside her.

"That was for Stephenson. Only right." She met Slater's eyes, smiling slightly, "He always enjoyed getting me to blow shit up for him." Glancing down to the slab of concrete that she and Slater had used for cover, she grabbed a piece of shrapnel that had stuck there from the explosion, jerked it free and examined it, before putting it in the breast pocket of her tac vest. If it were possible, she kept a piece of shrapnel from every grenade she threw. The last one, she hadn't.

"Happy you can get your chunk of grenade this time?"

"Yup," She spit a glob of tobacco in the direction of the aliens' dead bodies. She held up her gloved hand for emphasis, "Ever notice the ring I wear on my middle finger?"

Slater nodded.

"It's not…"

"Made out of shrapnel, yes indeed," McNamara smirked, "Don't make enough even on a Sergeant's wages to blow credits on gold or silver. Shrapnel works just fine."

"Shit." Slater remarked, an instantaneous change in his tone, which alerted McNamara to the fact he wasn't remarking on her ring. She tightened her grip on her assault rifle, looking around, waiting for him to say something, to move. She knew he was watching his HUD.

"What's goin' on, Slater?" The Sergeant pressed after one too many seconds of silence for her liking.

"Your grenade attracted company," He answered, "Multiple targets showing on my HUD, coming in the general direction that the others did – same alley-way, if I'm seeing this correctly. Won't be long 'til they see the mess you made of their buddies."

"How many is multiple?"

"Too many for the two of us to fuck with, and considering I can't tell whether they're Elites, or Grunts, or…" "Let's get the fuck out of here," McNamara snapped, gesturing, "Down that alleyway. Keep me informed on what you're seeing."

They took off on a light jog, clambering their way out of the mounds of collapsed concrete and into a shadowy, narrow alleyway between two partially destroyed buildings. The alleyway seemed to echo their footsteps, but it wasn't time for a leisurely pace. McNamara was glad that Slater had been assigned as her fire-team partner several months ago, and realized how lucky she was to still have him by her side. She made a mental point to tell him that. He'd been beside Stephenson when he had taken the hit. It could have just as easily been Slater.

They'd been separated from the remainder of their unit, but as fire-team partners it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as it could have been. Slater was good at navigating and his sense of direction seemed to be spot-on, even areas that he had never been in. Neither of them had set foot in New Mombasa prior to this very day, but thanks to Slater he had gotten them out of more than one sticky situation. This would be the third. And Slater, God love him, he never seemed to lose his cool. Didn't resort to a beer (or few) after battles, didn't have a relationship with nicotine like she did. The corporal was just twenty-seven and truly seemed like he was born to be a marine.

"I want to shoot whoever designed this city," Slater remarked as they emerged from the alleyway, made sure the area was clear before dashing into another narrow alley, "Too many things look the same. And the fact that everything is getting destroyed doesn't help matters."

"You have a better idea of where we're going than I do," McNamara said, "How's the HUD? Did we lose them? I don't think they heard us making our exit."

"Not getting anything," they came to a stop in the alley, by the cover of a garbage dumpster. Slater wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, "I think we're safe again for now, Mac."  
"This is a game of cat and mouse, and I don't like fuckin' being the mouse," she stated, "We gotta run into our own guys soon. There's strength in numbers, and although we are a badass fire-team, Slater, we can't be running into big groups like that time after time. We've only got so much ammo, and I can't make grenades appear out of thin air."

Slater nodded in acknowledgment.

"I'll radio again, see if anyone responds."

"On the open comm-channel?"

"Don't have any other choice. If the Covenant pick it up, well, tough for us I guess. I wasn't given any secure channels to use. Probably didn't think I'd need to."

McNamara shrugged in defeat, and listened as Slater began to attempt radio contact with anyone nearby. Her wad of tobacco was starting to lose its taste, so she wedged it out of her lip with her tongue and spit it into the garbage dumpster. Taking out her can of chewing tobacco, she gave it a shake. There wasn't much left. She'd wait until later to have more, she decided, before shoving it back into her fatigues pocket.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked up, bringing her assault rifle into firing position. Slater, saw her quick movement, and whipped around, but at this point there was no cause for alarm. Standing at the end of the alleyway, were two people, a man and a woman. Both of them appeared to be no older than twenty. Civilians. They looked scared and exhausted, but relief seemed to seep through their expressions for coming upon McNamara and Slater.

McNamara lowered her rifle, and studied the two civilians. They were dishevelled, their clothes were dirty. They looked like they had been through hell and back, but then again, McNamara realized, she and Slater probably looked not much different.

"Don't look so scared," McNamara said, relaxing and leaning back against the wall of the alley, "We're UNSC Marines."

She wasn't quite particularly concerned with the civilians' story, why they were where they were, or where they were going, so she wasn't about to ask. She had stopped being able to relate to civvies a long time ago. They struck her almost as a different species. Slater was the more tolerant out of the two of them, so she counted on him to do any further speaking. She knew right then and there that the civilians' would be wanting their help – but there wasn't really anything they could do for them but point them in a probable direction of an evac site.

"You're the first marines we've run into." The man spoke first.

"Take a couple steps towards us," McNamara didn't care, waving them in, "Get out of the open, you don't want to be seen."

They did as they were told quickly, taking a few steps closer to the two marines, however they still seemed relatively timid. McNamara's sharp, authoritativeness didn't exactly help them feel welcome. Slater wasn't surprised by the Sergeant's indifference towards the two civilians. They'd come across many of them in one day, most of them being dead. He took over as the main communicator, knowing not much more would be heard from Mac.

"Are you natives of the city?" he questioned the young man and woman.

"Tourists, actually. Picked a bad day for it." The man answered, "It happened so suddenly, at first we had no idea what was going on." He looked to the young woman standing next to him, "This is my fiancée, Krista. My name is Steve."

Slater nodded wordlessly. It took him a couple seconds to realize the civilians were expecting a return introduction.

"Sergeant McNamara," He gestured with his head to Mac, "I'm Corporal Slater."

There were a few awkward seconds that ticked by, before Steve continued:

"Aren't marines supposed to travel in groups?"

"We were separated in a firefight," Slater told him, "Trying to find our way back as we speak. Are you headed in the direction of an evac site?"

"Attempting to, but we hardly know where we are going. It's chaotic out there. And there are the aliens, they seem to be everywhere. We've seen so many dead people…"

"Do you know your way around?" Krista spoke up, sounding hopeful.

"I have…" Slater started, but he felt a vicious tap on his tac-vest, and McNamara grabbed him by the arm, jerking him a few feet backwards.

"Excuse us for a minute," McNamara said to the civilians briskly. Her brows were crumpled in irritation, blue eyes ablaze with it, her mouth pursed tightly. When they were just out of hearing distance of the couple, McNamara let loose in a hushed tone, "Slater, we are not fucking escorting them anywhere. You do not have an HUD, you do not know your way around, got it? We can't afford to have two unprotected civilians tagging along with us. They will only slow us down, thus putting both of us in more risk of getting killed than we already are."

"So what do you want me to say?"

"Point them in the fucking direction of the evac site and let 'em go. This isn't time to have sympathy for civilians. I get that they're getting killed left right and center, but it's not our job to be their personal escort, you know that."

Slater sighed, knowing she was right.

"Don't fucking get soft on me, Slater," Mac told him, "Not now."

"I'm not, Mac. You know Gunny would've…"

"Gunny might have wanted to help them, but in the end he would've made the same decision I am. You know I don't make a decision if I don't feel if it's right. This is right, as cold as it may seem."

"Okay," Slater sighed, "You know there may be some of our guys at the evac site right?"

"Without a doubt there are, if it hasn't been overrun with Covenant. And if you can't get radio contact, that will be our likely destination – but we aren't going with the civvies." McNamara answered, "We are helping them by pointing them in the right direction. It's better than nothing."

She let go of the fabric of Slater's sleeve, setting him free. Letting out a sigh, she whirled away, taking a couple of frustrated paces down the alley-way, tapping out a beat on the butt-stock of her assault rifle, allowing Slater to break the news to the civilians.

Slater made his way back to Steve and Krista, his expression faintly apologetic. They both looked curious as to what had been discussed in the hushed conversation.

"What evac site were you told to go to?" he asked them.

"The one near the Orbital Elevator," Steve replied, "Wherever that might be. They told us you can see it from the ground, we've been looking…"

Slater recalled hearing radio traffic earlier that the elevator was one of the first things destroyed by the Covenant upon their rival, and the area was generally overrun. It may have been an initial evac point, but not now.

"The elevator was destroyed by the Covenant," Slater informed them, "It's gone. The nearest evac site I've heard that is supposed to still be active is the one in Beria Plaza."

"We were there just the other day," Krista reminded Steve, and looked relieved, "We know where that is."

"Good. Go there – but stay off the main highways. Travel in alleys like these, if possible. Try to stay out of sight. That's all the advice I can give you. Good luck."

"You won't accompany us?" Steve asked.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Steve nodded, not trying to hide his disappointment. His fiancée Krista even looked confused at hearing this response, "Well, thank you for your help, Corporal." He extended his hand.

Slater shook it, nodding. The couple exchanged a few words, then not before giving the two marines a little wave, and saying thank-you again, they left the alleyway.

Slater heaved a heavy sigh, and glanced back over his shoulder at McNamara, who had come to lean against the wall again by the dumpster. She met his eyes, chewing on her lip, something she did when she didn't have a wad of tobacco in her mouth. She gave him a nod, and he returned it.

"I fucking hate being the asshole." He confessed.

"I'm the asshole if you want to start firing names around," McNamara told him, "Part of life is delivering news to people that they don't necessarily want to hear. Guess you're not as used to it as I am. You'll live."

Slater's HUD lit up with a grouping of red blips, and at the same time he heard a scream, the roar of an Elite, and he looked to the exit of the alleyway just in time to see several bolts of plasma whizz past.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed, turning around, taking a couple of steps before stopping himself. McNamara grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck and pulled him down behind the dumpster.

"Goddamn it, why did…" Slater started, but McNamara shushed him, peeking up over the dumpster. A maniacal laugh could be heard, and they saw two Elites lope past the alleyway, almost with a joyful gait, to examine the bodies of the two civilians they had no doubt just killed.

"Fuckin' split-chin cunts." McNamara muttered, venom oozing from her tone and harsh choice of words. Slater looked to her, and saw her expression was clearly frustrated. She hated to see someone die as much as he did – but he could tell it mattered less to her. She was able to shut it out. He wasn't. He was overwhelmed with it.

"We shouldn't have sent them out there." He said to her, keeping his voice low, but he couldn't hide it in his tone that he was upset.

"Don't you start blaming," McNamara snapped, "Slater, pull yourself together. It's not our fuckin' fault. It's terrible they were just killed – but it happens. Look around, this whole fucking city is a huge cluster-fuck of chaos and death."

Slater nodded. He admired Mac's ability to think the way she did. He wondered if even a part of her had any sympathy – and figured he'd known her long enough to know that deep down there probably was. But she wouldn't show it to a soul.

McNamara placed a hand on Slater's shoulder supportively, giving it a squeeze. That was the extent of her ability to comfort him, he knew, and he appreciated the small gesture for what it was worth. She dropped her hand, and sighed, chewing her lip again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the ground ahead of her. Silence fell between the two of them.

The silence allowed for them to hear a terrifying sound. A slight beeping – that the both of them recognized to be that of a plasma grenade. McNamara peeked up quickly over the dumpster, seeing one pulsing on the ground not two meters away. The dumpster they were sitting behind would not protect them from the explosion.

Adrenaline began to pulse through her, and she scrambled to her feet, pulling Slater up with her, letting out a yell that seemed to echo endlessly in the alleyway:

"MOVE!"

She gave him a shove, putting her ahead of him. They made it a few steps down the alleyway before the plasma grenade detonated. There was a blast of searing heat that struck McNamara's back – knocking the air from her lungs. The force from the explosion sent her airborne, and she struck the wall, her vision doubling and her ears ringing. She came to land on her back on the dirt. Her chest was tight and she tried to suck in a deep breath, but it was a suffocating sound. She could feel her heart pounding, mixing with the ringing in her ears. Her body was in pain, incredible pain, but it was starting to already become a background feeling. She could taste blood in her mouth.

She managed to move her head in the direction Slater had been headed. She spotted him, lying not five feet away from her, unconscious, or worse. His eyes were closed, there was a trickle of blood running down his face. His helmet had been knocked off. His right arm looked mangled, the fabric of his sleeve was clearly melted into his skin, the skin itself a bloody, oozy looking mess.

McNamara felt nauseous, and tried to raise her head from the ground. She got a glimpse of her own body, and knew she'd been hit by the plasma. Her tac-vest appeared to be melted in various spots. She could see blood, and in one place on her leg, what looked to be bone.

"Fuck," she choked out, "Slater!" her voice was weak, and she knew it, "Slater!"

He wasn't answering her.

Were the Elites going to come check on them? Would they see she was still alive and kill her, give both of them finishing shots with their plasma rifles? Where the fuck did Slater's helmet go? It had the radio – if it even worked now.

Her vision was going foggy. Was she dying? Each breath she took required a ridiculous amount of effort. She needed to get out of here, or get some sort of help, or otherwise she was left for dead, she realized.

The Sergeant was able to keep another minute of consciousness, before the pain and shock of the incident overwhelmed her. Her world went black.

A/N: So this an idea that came to me a few days ago. Is the chapter worth continuing into a full length story? How were the characters? Let me know, all the feedback is appreciated - AB

[14]


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**November 2534 - Earth**

Lena McNamara sat amongst her classmates in the classroom, eyes glued to the holographic screen that was portraying the latest news on the Human-Covenant War. The news that another colony planet had just been lost to the Covenant was being grimly broadcast to the rest of humanity. The number of human casualties were staggering, over two-hundred thousand dead, thousands missing, thousands wounded.

It was common for teachers to allow their students to tune into the news in the last few minutes of class before the end of the day. There were always continuous updates on the war, and there wasn't a soul in the room who wasn't interested in what was going on.

Upon seeing shaky camera footage of the ground of one of the cities on the colony planet, ablaze, destroyed, with one of the Covenant ships hovering over it in the distance, Lena glanced down to her paper, realizing she'd snapped the lead on her pencil. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, heaving a big sigh, shaking her head. She felt helpless and sitting there in the classroom felt rather trivial, and useless. What good would an education be to anyone if the Covenant wiped out all of Humanity? It wouldn't be.

She was half-way through her senior year. Not that she'd put much interest in school throughout the years, her final year seemed to be dragging on endlessly and overshadowed by the goings-on of the war. It was only recently that the war was becoming an actual concern to the inhabitants of Earth. For years the Human-Covenant War had been something going on light-years away, on planets that no one ever heard of. However, when the Covenant began locating more and more Human colonies, and the devastating losses began to pile up, the Human-Covenant War soon became a part of everyone's lives.

The bell rang, and it a beautiful sound. Lena swiped her notebook and pencil into her bag and threw it over her shoulder, rising from her seat and weaving her way from the room without a word to anyone. She was getting a headache and the news always irritated her.

"Lena!"

Hearing her name, Lena glanced over her shoulder. She spotted her friend, Casey, shoving his way through the horde of students to meet her. She stopped, side stepping to the side of the hallway to let people pass. He reached her in a couple of strides.

"We're getting drunk tonight," Casey said matter-of-factly, raising a brow and grinning, "Can we count you in?"

"I dunno, Case. I got a splittin' headache."

"Alcohol fixes all sorts of pain," He nudged her with his elbow, "You know you want to. And don't give some sort of excuse about homework, I know as much as the next person that you don't give a fuck about deadlines."

"It's a Wednesday."

"So?"

Lena shrugged her shoulders, rolling her eyes in defeat. "Fine." She said. They both turned and started walking in the direction of the nearest exit, "That douchebag from last week better not be there. I hadn't been that tempted to chuck the remnants of my beer in someone's face since that catastrophe that was your seventeenth birthday party."

Casey chuckled.

"Oh, Jackson? He won't be there. He was some fucked up, wasn't he?"

"Definition of a sloppy drunk," Lena rolled her eyes, "Fuckin' makes me question where I'm headed in life when I can hold my liquor a lot better than half the guys I know."

"I believe I'm to blame for that," Casey admitted.

"That and my parents don't monitor the contents of their liquor cabinet. They throw so many parties they can't keep track of what's actually consumed by the guests and what I smuggle into my backpack." Lena put her hand to her head, massaging her temples as they left the school, stepping outside into the brisk winter air, "You don't have any painkillers on you, do you? My head is splitting."

"Only the best remedy known to man," Casey replied, zippering up his jacket, looking to her with a grin. It took Lena two seconds to realize what he meant.

"Something that's not illegal?" she asked, to which he responded with a small shake of his head and a casual shrug. Leave it to Casey, she figured, to be so daring to carry weed on his person. She sometimes forgot she had a pint or two in her backpack after a rough weekend, but she never would venture that far. Sometime she wondered who gave less of a shit, her or Casey. In this situation, the award went to Casey. Maybe that's why they got along so well.

"It's for tonight, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not for me," he replied, "I gotta lay off the stuff. My cough is becoming more and more pronounced."

"To most, you realize we seem quite unmotivated and lazy," Lena raised her brow, "I've been thinking a lot about it, about our daily lives. Think about it, we're here, going to school, learning, going about living happily while there's a war going on. A war that threatens our very existence… and we're just, acting like nothing's different."

"Well, nothing is different. Not here, anyway."

"Do you pay attention to the news at all?" she asked him, "The Covenant are destroying colonies, thousands of people are dying."

"Yes, hundreds of light-years away. I heard that they've got extensive plans in place to prevent the Covenant from ever locating Earth. It's nothing to worry about. We got this, it's fine. You're always such a pessimist, Mac. For being nineteen you need to lighten up. You do need a drink or few to relax."

Lena exhaled a breath, seeing it come out in a cloud in the cold air. She shook her head slightly, knowing there was no point in trying to make Casey understand.

They had reached the street corner where they would part ways, and stopped for a moment.

"So, I'll see you later? We should start drinking around seven or so. My parents will be gone by then," Casey told her.

"Yup, sounds good." Lena nodded curtly. Casey gave her a little wave and they separated. It was a good couple of kilometers home, and Lena would relish the walk, despite the nippy cold. It hadn't snowed yet, but the sky was a dreary grey, the grass a dead yellow and the trees naked. Wouldn't be long now. She pulled her hood up over her head and shoved her hands in her sweater pockets, quickening her pace, the heels of her boots clicking on the sidewalk. Her mind wandered to the puzzling issue at hand, the news she'd heard on the television and how helpless she felt.

Passing a video advertisement, she glanced up to see what it'd be broadcasting today. It differed each day, from stupid soda ads to bright flashy banners telling you that this certain radio station played the best music. However, this time, she saw a stern-faced soldier, wearing full battle-gear and carrying a rifle. Next to him, it said "Do your part. Join the UNSC Marine Corps today."

Lena stopped and studied it for a moment. Memorizing the phone number on the ad, she chewed on her lip thoughtfully, before turning and continuing on her way home.

Barging in the front door, Lena kicked off her boots on the doormat and shrugged out of her coat. The door had barely closed shut behind her when her mother acknowledged her arrival. Her voice floated into the foyer from the sitting room.

"Lena? Is that you?"

"No, it's your fairy-godmother," Lena answered sarcastically, poking her head into the sitting room. She spotted her mother seated on that posh velvet loveseat she adored so much, with one of her friends sitting across from her on the antique couch they had imported from a country-house in England. Both of them were having tea and what looked to be some sort of baked sweets, "Oh. Hello Mrs. Braithwaite. What sort of gossip is my mother entertaining you with today?"

"Lena," Mrs. McNamara fixed her daughter with a gentle glare. "How was school?"

"Same shit different day. You know how it is."

Mrs. McNamara gave her friend an apologetic smile before looking back to her daughter, who seemed to be done with the conversation and was making a b-line for the staircase.

"Are you going out?"

Lena rounded the corner out of her mother's view, approaching the liquor cabinet.

"Yes," she called back, sliding open the cabinet door and snatching out a brand new eighty-dollar bottle of vodka, "To Casey's." Closing the cabinet and slipping the vodka into her sweater pocket, she began to ascend the stairs.

"Lena."

She glanced disdainfully over her shoulder at her mother, knowing she had no idea what she was up to.

"I've got a headache. I'd stay and chat but I'm gonna rest up a bit, if you don't mind." She told her mother plainly, and that was that. Lena knew she wouldn't argue, especially with her friend present.

Lena made it to her bedroom and closed and locked the door behind her. She dropped her backpack carelessly on the floor and tossed the bottle of vodka onto the comforter on her bed. The search for the bottle of Advil was next. Her room was a mess, and she saw that her mother had placed more university applications in a heap on her desk. Sweeping them out of the way, she found the Advil beneath an open textbook and a half-empty bag of candy. Lena downed two pills with a swig of flat soda, and collapsed backwards onto her bed, careful not to land on the bottle of vodka.

She heaved a heavy sigh, looking up at the ceiling in thought. She remembered the ad she had seen walking home. They were looking for people to join the Marine Corps. Semper fi, wasn't that the motto? Lena was almost sure. Could she do it? Did she even _want _to do it?

Hell, it'd be more productive than what her current life consisted of: carelessly attending school, battling her differences out with her overbearing, posh parents and getting drunk every other night.

She figured she could inquire, at least. No harm in that. Wouldn't say a word to her parents, of course. They wouldn't have it. They wanted her to get into the best university and get a career in something noteworthy. To them, it was like the war wasn't going on at all. They didn't watch the news, they didn't discuss it with their friends. They were just fine and dandy with living happily on cloud nine, throwing lavish parties that paid tribute to their British heritage. Apparently the McNamara lineage could be traced back the 18th century, and not a single attribute of how Lena's parents decided to live their lives let that fact be forgotten.

Lena hated her family's love for extravagance, and made sure she voiced that opinion, both to her family themselves and to all those that knew her. She stopped having friends over to her home when she was sixteen. The grandeur of her home had lost its magic for her within the week they'd moved in when she was eight, and it irritated her to listen to her friends ooh and ah over it and compare it to where they lived.

Casey still enjoyed poking his head in and saying hello, taking interest in the multiple antiques the mansion housed, but Lena hated when he did. Occasionally she'd let him over to study, but she preferred going to his house. He lived in a simple yet modern fifth floor apartment with his younger sister and his parents. Casey's parents, while they didn't approve of his extensive drinking and partying habits, were a breath of fresh air when compared to Lena's parents. They were down to earth people and didn't have their heads stuck up their own asses, a term that Lena often used herself to describe her mother and father.

She hadn't really ever gotten along with her parents, she didn't know what it was like to be close to them, and oddly enough, thought she did just fine without. Her father wasn't around long enough to really develop any sort of relationship with her. He attempted to substitute that by giving Lena whatever she wanted. Her father at first had tried to predict her tastes, but finally, on her nineteenth birthday, she assured him she'd be fine with a credit card. As for her mother, she and Lena had almost daily arguments, with nothing being solved at the conclusion; rather they set up the ingredients for the next one to come. The only thing Lena believed she had in common with her mother, aside from the blonde hair - the blue eyes were her father's – was that their favorite food was anything Italian. Truce could be temporarily held between the two if pizza was ordered or pasta made for dinner. Even then, it wasn't guaranteed. When she had been fourteen, Lena remembered angrily throwing an empty pizza box at her mother's head. Naturally, her mother hadn't been so much concerned by her daughter's violent outburst; rather it was the fact that the pizza box could've stained the carpet.

Lena sighed, closing her eyes. The Advil would kick in soon, she hoped. Her headache had begun to fade away on its own, much to her relief. Her bed was comfortable, yet she wasn't sure if she wanted to nap – but there wasn't much else to do.

So she napped.

Lena awoke at six-thirty and was out the door by quarter to seven, pausing to shovel down the remainders of the baked sweets her mother and her friend had barely touched. Knowing Casey, his cupboards would be well-stocked, and he never minded her raiding them.

The sun had set and it had gotten much colder outside, and Lena had made it two blocks when she started wishing she had worn a warmer coat. She hadn't bothered to change from school. On her way to Casey's, she passed the electronic advertisement board, although the ad for the Marine Corps was no longer there. It was now advertising a new type of soda – typical, and also trivial, Lena mused as she passed. She wondered what Casey would think about her joining – depending on his mood, she might bring it up to him tonight, she figured.

She arrived at his apartment and was welcomed at the door. Casey was already half in the bag, beer in hand, grinning with a twinge of color to his cheeks. Lena received a large hug before being ushered inside and directed to a seat on the sofa. The apartment was loud, with music blaring and half a dozen different conversations happening at once. Casey had gathered quite the crowd, but the usual crowd. Familiar faces made Lena feel at ease as she said a few hellos and received a few hug and sat down. The coffee table in front of her was filled with various types of alcohol and Dixie cups. A group of guys and girls had cleared the kitchen table in order to play beer pong. Over in the corner of the living room, by the window, two people were sharing a bong.

Lena, without being told, drew out her bottle of vodka, plucked a cup off the table and poured herself a drink, mixing it with someone's soda. She had barely taken her first drink when Casey flopped down next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"You look happy," Lena observed. Studying him, she noticed the glaze in his eyes, "And you said you weren't gonna smoke."

"Old habits die hard," He said, grinning like a Cheshire cat, gesturing with his thumb to the people in the corner with the bong, "Want a hit?"

Lena shook her head, holding up her bottle of vodka.

"This is good enough for me."

"The latest pillage from your parents' liquor cabinet?"

"Mmm," she took a drink, "Best of the best. Wouldn't have it any other way, right?" the last part was bitter with sarcasm.

"Well your name _is_ McNamara," Casey played along, "Your dad home yet?"

"Nope. Still in China." Lena shrugged. Or at least she thought. That's where he'd been the last time she'd bothered to ask, anyway.

She and Casey chatted for a while longer, long enough for her to establish the fact he was incredibly drunk, and by the judge of things, quite high as well. For whatever reason, tonight, his behavior seemed to annoy her. The whole party wasn't sitting right. She finished her first drink and felt the warmth rising in her cheeks and the associated euphoria, but knew her mood wasn't up to par.

What good did partying do? How was this at all proving anything, but their ignorance to what Humanity was dealing with? It was an all-consuming thought that irked Lena. She poured herself another drink, but sat rigidly in her place with it, drumming her fingers against the cup.

She glanced around the room for Casey, half-expecting to see him somewhere smoking again. However, the couple in the corner had abandoned the bong and instead were all over each other in passionate fervor, and Casey was in the kitchen, his ass sticking out of the refrigerator.

Lena couldn't hold back a smirk, shaking her head. She stood up, taking her drink, and approached him. Moving made her realize how quickly the alcohol was going to her head. Empty stomach, she put two and two together. As tempted as she was to kick Casey in the ass, she didn't.

"Case!" She said, ducking to avoid a ping-pong ball thrown with drunken inaccuracy. At first he didn't respond, then finally emerged from the refrigerator, mouth full of food.

"Hmh?" he grunted.

Alcohol diminished what little patience Lena had, so she came out with it:

"I think I'm going to join the Marine Corps."

It took Casey a couple of seconds to register her words, but it didn't seem to do much good, for his response was:

"What?"

"I think I'm going to join the marines. Ooh-rah. Semper fi, you know?" She grinned.

Her enthusiasm wasn't reciprocated. Casey's brow furrowed, and he looked at her like she was crazy.

"Why the fuck would you want to do that?"

"To be useful," Lena replied, "To do my part."

"You don't have to do anything."  
"But I want to, Case."

"You want to get shipped away to go fight a bunch of aliens that aren't our concern?" Casey wasn't accepting the idea at all. He slammed the fridge door shut, "What the fuck, Lena. And just leave me here?"

"You could join with me," she suggested.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed, "I don't want to get killed, thanks, but by all means, if that's your thing…" he waved her away, "Go right ahead!"

Lena opened her mouth to argue, but realized it was pointless, especially considering Casey was anything but sober, and she was strongly buzzed. She shrugged in defeat,

"Whatever; just forget what I said." She finished her drink right there and then, and set the cup down on the counter. Making her way towards the door, she realized she didn't want to be at this party any longer. With her hand on the doorknob, she looked to Casey, "Have fun tonight. And you can keep my vodka; it isn't sitting well with me."

She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, heading towards the stairs. The door had barely closed when she heard it flung open, and knew without looking, it was Casey coming after her.

"Lena… wait…"

She paused on the top step, looking at him.

"I'm stoned as fuck, and drunk, I don't really know what I'm sayin'," the intoxicated apologies began to spill, and Casey was a sorry sight if there ever was one, shoulders rounded and his expression hurt, "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why you leavin'? Don't go." He took a couple steps towards her, reaching out and grasping her arm, "I thought you were going to stay," he lowered his voice, "Like the other night, remember?" His hand went from her arm, up to her face.

"Casey…"

"You don't have to do anything for this war, it's not bothering us, we'll just be fine, you and me." Casey was starting to ramble.

"But I want to do something." She told him, "I feel helpless here. I'm perfectly able. Casey, you mean a lot to me, you know that. And you should support me in this decision. If you don't, no one will. Not that I need support. I'm going to do it either way, with you behind me or not."

"Where did this all come from?" he seemed confused, "You were fine with all this," he gestured back to his apartment, "Just the other night, you were fine. What happened?"

"I've been thinking about this for a while. I'm finally going to act on it. I'm sorry," she took a couple steps further down the stairs, out of his grasp, "I'm going to join."

Casey didn't say anything, and Lena had nothing further to say, so she turned and made her way down the steps. Reaching the bottom, she turned to see him standing at the top, watching her. She'd remember the image for a long time, for it was the last time she ever saw him.

**A/N:** Second chapter finished. Playing with a lot of ideas, so let me know what you think so far! -AB


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